


Socks

by paranoidkitten (tornyourdress)



Category: Have I Got News For You RPF
Genre: M/M, Socks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2009-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tornyourdress/pseuds/paranoidkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People always give Ian socks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socks

Socks. It was always socks. If there was any sort of occasion which required a gift, it was always socks. Well, not always, but it felt like that, as though socks were the only gift that anyone would ever purchase for him, as though everyone he knew thought of him as the sort of man who needed socks.

When he bought socks for himself they were plain and dull, in blacks and whites and greys, the sort of safe colours that go with everything. He considered, sometimes – usually after having opened several gifts and finding himself with several more pairs of socks to add to the collection – whether or not this reflected on his personality. He thought perhaps not. He hoped not.

The ones with the diamond patterns, in colours like beige and brown and green – not terribly daring and still rather sensible and occasionally hideous, particularly that mustard yellow pair – were almost all from Angus, if he remembered the occasion at all, if he wasn't too busy pretending that there really was nothing going on and it was all purely professional. He never wore them. Well, he occasionally wore them, but never set out to do so. If he was in a rush and one of those pairs happened to be within grabbing range, if there were no clean socks around.

Every so often he told himself he was going to clear out his sock drawer and get rid of all those pairs that he didn't particularly like wearing, but he felt – and was annoyed with himself for feeling it – that it would be like a secret betrayal, to cast aside these gifts, despite their blandness and the evident lack of imagination of the giver.

He hardly ever wore the wacky novelty socks Paul made a habit of buying for him, either. He just felt _silly_ wearing red Santa socks with bobbles sticking out or bright blue "Disco King" socks; he felt like he couldn't quite pull it off and really had no desire to, anyway. He had worn the socks with "Fuck me" emblazoned upon them, though; he felt as though he owed it to Paul to show that he appreciated the effort he'd gone to in order to find them.

He couldn't throw any of those pairs of socks out either, though. He knew he _should._ They were just taking up space, and were for the most part bypassed in favour of his own sensible plain socks, the only ones he really felt comfortable in.

He often pondered the significance of sock-giving too. It wasn't so much about thoughtfulness, he realised, as it was about trying to imprint some of yourself onto someone else, trying to leave some tangible evidence of your own personality in someone else's sock drawer. It reflected more on the giver than the receiver, who was, after all, perfectly happy with his own socks.

But what did it mean when, despite his inability to actually wear these gift-socks on a regular basis, he still couldn't bring himself to just stuff them into a plastic bag and dump them? What did it say about him that he sometimes emptied out the contents of the drawer onto the floor, with the intention of throwing at least half the pairs out, only to sigh and begin placing each pair of socks back into the drawer, almost reverently?


End file.
